


Dallas

by elevenoclock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hits Dallas from the north, coming in down I-35 and weaving his way through mid-morning traffic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dallas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Session 2, Round 1 of The New Pub. The theme was "cities", and this piece was written in 20 minutes for the prompt "Dallas, TX". Join us every Saturday afternoon at http://thenewpub.livejournal.com!

[Original Link](http://thenewpub.livejournal.com/3215.html)

Dean hits Dallas from the north, coming in down I-35 and weaving his way through mid-morning traffic. He hates any city that's big enough to even have mid-morning traffic ("Don't these people work or somethin'?), but Dallas is promising enough to bring him in for two reasons:

The first is because Main Street BBQ is going out of business, and their pulled pork and beans are enough to make a man's eyes water with joy.

The second is because someone is killing club-goers in Deep Ellum, and the Dallas Morning News had used all three of Dean's favorite key phrases: "authorities are baffled", "freak deaths", and "no apparent motive".

His car stands out too much in a city of four-by-fours and gaudy SUVs, so he finds a parking lot down the road from where Kennedy was assassinated, and starts walking.

(He really, really wants to take his EMF reader over to the spot where Johnny K died, but resists... barely.)

He may not be Sammy, all smart and hanging out in Stanford with hot coeds, but Dean knows his way around a scene, and flashes a fake State Troopers badge, slides under the yellow tape.

The smell makes him retch, and he takes an unwilling step back.

When he regains his composure, he manages to take in a handful of facts about the scene, before the DPD get back from their lunch break: the body has no EMF reading, no smell of sulfer, and no freaking cult signs. She's sliced from neck to navel, her organs spread out carefully around them. Flies have settled, and the body is rotting already as the temperature rises.

But Dean also spots what the detectives seemed to have missed. Ink, curling out from beneath the victim and barely visible along her hip. A tramp stamp.

Dean flips through the notes of the other two victims, stollen from the local police department with the help of a dim but very nice woman named Peggy. Tramp stamps, both of them.

He ducks back beneath the police tape and heads for his car, breathing deep to get the stench of death out of his nose. Not their case, he realizes, just another disgusting human being.

He has the number for a special team at the FBI, some kind of Behavioral Analysis group... maybe he'll leave them an anonymous tip.

... After he's had his BBQ and skipped town, of course.


End file.
